


Planning is essential component to a successful job

by irishcookie



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Ariadne wants to throw things, Arthur is a cocky bastard, Dirty Talk, F/M, Secretary Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4371542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishcookie/pseuds/irishcookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur needs Ariadne to take some notes for an upcoming job --- or something like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Planning is essential component to a successful job

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun writing this one!

It is just another work day. 

 

And Ariadne can’t help but be bored.  She knows preparation is essential – without it they will fall flat on their face and in the world of dreams, there is no room to fall.  Having personally experienced the consequences herself (a return trip to limbo is decidedly not on her to-do list), Ariadne places a lot of faith in planning. 

 

However, once she has sketched, built and taught the layout to the dreamer, she is left with little to do.  She hates that her part is over near the beginning, she hates twiddling her thumbs – most of all she hates watching over the PASIV device while Arthur and Eames have all the fun.  And it is not as if she hasn’t tried to expand her areas of expertise.  Arthur has attempted to teach her to shoot properly (because aiming a gun at Mal and firing had been pure instinct) but she finds that faced with a choice on whether or not to fire, she is a terrible shot.  She has begged Eames to let her try her hand at forging but their first (and only) lesson ended with Eames on his ass laughing while Ariadne stood over him, her giant manlike hands firmly planted on her hips.  No, she is the architect – the best according to Cobb, Arthur and Eames, but she isn’t sure just how much stock she can put into the words of three criminals. 

 

So with the layout perfected, Ariadne surrenders control to her co-workers and finds herself doing what she can to keep from bouncing off the walls.  She begins fetching coffee, supplies, picking up trash that Eames keeps tossing over his shoulder with no regard to the others he shares the space with.  She can’t help but become a little resentful.  If she wanted to be a gopher she would have tried her hand at becoming a real architect.  Arthur senses this, assures her that it won’t always be like this (as he runs his hands over her naked back in their bed).  Someday they’ll find an extractor they can trust as much as they did Cobb.  Someday they’ll have someone watch the PASIV so she can once again go under with them.  Someday…and until then, he tells her he appreciates everything she does (as his hands dip lower). 

 

So when he steps out of his office and calls her name, directing her to bring a pen and some paper to take a few notes, she tries not to bristle in annoyance.  She tries not to huff when she locates a pen from her desk and a pad of paper under Eames’ rear end (he doesn’t give it up without a lewd comment which earns him a swat with the notepad).  She steps inside his office to find him perched on the edge of his desk hands folded in his lap.  He indicates that she should sit in a chair placed in front of the desk and she wonders if she is trapped in a flashback in which she attempted to work at newspaper to pay for a new car (it failed miserably; short hand is not her friend). 

 

“We only have a few days left before this job.  I think prioritizing what needs to be done beforehand will help us immensely,” Arthur shifts slightly and Ariadne wonders just how in the hell he can do that without even causing a line to form in his pants (though she has seen his ironing routine so perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised).  He looks at her expectantly and she tries not sigh as she scribbles ‘ _Do this so we don’t fuck up_ ’ at the top of the page.  She then looks up to find him smiling slightly. 

 

“To begin with,” Her head drops again, pen hovering over the line, ear attuned to the sound of his voice.  “I need to kiss you until you can’t breathe.” She has written the first few words before she fully comprehends what he has said (she is not that far out of college after all).  Her eyebrows furrow together and her eyes shoot up.  “Did you get that?” He asked, looking nonplussed.

 

“Uh,” she looks at her messy writing.  ‘ _I need to kiss_ ’.  “Sure.”

 

“Good,” Arthur tells her.  “Shall we continue?”

 

Ariadne nods, wondering if he has gotten it out of his system now.  She expects to hear words like ‘mark’, and ‘kick’ from here on out.  She once again is poised, ready to go. 

 

“I’ll peel your clothes off slowly, layer by layer.”

 

The pen makes a scratch of blue ink across the line.  “Arthur?”

 

“Write it down,” he instructs, his voice taking on its natural authoritarian tone (and hell, if it doesn’t translate into a fluttering between her thighs). 

 

It takes her a moment to get over the surprise at the situation and she manages to scribble ‘ _Arthur strips me slowly_ ’ on the paper before looking to him expectantly.  She has no idea what he thinks he is doing and she is caught between wanting to make a dignified exit and having him continue (oh God, please continue). 

 

“I would imagine next I will tease your nipples until they are hard beneath my hands,” he sounds detached (why is that hot, she wonders).  She hopes her hands aren’t shaking as she thinks of how to condense that (because Arthur is a wordy bastard).  It translates to ‘ _Tease nipples hard_ ’.  She takes a deep breath when she finishes because frankly, Arthur isn’t giving her anytime to recover. 

 

“I would probably suck on your neck until it left a mark dark enough that everyone will know you are mine,” Arthur continues and she tries to suppress a whimper.

 

‘ _Brand Ariadne_ ’ is added to the list. 

 

“I might tie you up with that ridiculous scarf you are wearing,” He comments next, ignoring the glare she sends in his direction.  None the less, she writes ‘ _Tie me up with my **FABULOUS** scarf’_.  She shifts in her seat slightly, her legs pressed together to try and relieve some of the tension she feels. 

 

“Or I could gag you with it,” Arthur considers.  She amends the last item to ‘ _ ~~Tie~~ gag me with my **FABULOUS** scarf’_. Good Lord, the mental picture she has right now.  Arthur has to know what he is doing to her.  He is not an idiot (but he is a tease.  A big goddamn tease). 

 

He appears in thought, as if this is a job and careful planning is needed before he makes his next move.  Finally a sort of grin tweaks his mouth.  “I would imagine I would bury my head between your thighs next…”

 

“Jesus Christ!” Ariadne says, her eyes widening.  She is vaguely aware of the scraping of chair legs across concrete and for the first time remembers that they aren’t exactly alone.  She sends a hurried glance in Eames’ direction but finds that he has only moved to put his feet on the table as he flips the page of a rather thick document. 

 

“He can’t hear us.  Well, as long as you keep it down.  Should we implement action item number five right now?” Arthur inquires. 

 

She manages to shake her head, swallowing.  He appears to be waiting patiently and she realizes she hasn’t written down action item number six.  She stumbles over the right way to capture what he has just told her and it comes out as ‘ _ ~~Arthur uses his tongue~~   ~~Arthur eats me out~~   FUCK ARTHUR AND HIS MAGIC TONGUE_’. 

 

Ariadne isn’t sure how much more she can handle before she throws the pad and jumps him on the desk (and Eames, despite having a deep love of porn, has already expressed that he does not under any circumstances want to see them going at it).  She hates that her body is primed and ready and he looks as cool and collected.  Revenge.  Revenge is going to be sweet (as soon as she figures what it is).

 

“You’ll come of course.” Of course.  She doesn’t add that to the list.  She figures it is understood considering the phrase ‘ _magic tongue_ ’ is practically sketched out in big block letters.  “I suppose I’ll undress next.  Fold my clothes over the chair…” Ariadne does not resist scribbling ‘ _Arthur gets anal_ ’ before looking back to him. “Then I’ll stroke myself hard.”

 

Ariadne sees it clearly in her head.  Her pen clatters to the floor.  “Fuck,” she mutters as she watches it roll under the file cabinet.  She does not want to stick her hand under there.  God knows what she’ll find.  She is about to move but Arthur is leaning forward, a brand new pen in his hand.  She reaches for it, and he uses the opportunity to brush his fingers on the inside of her wrist.  Given her state, she jumps at his touch (she has always been sensitive; Arthur tells her he loves that about her).  She sits back, new pen in hand and waits. 

 

“I believe you have forgotten the last step,” Arthur tells her, back to his original position on the edge of the desk. 

 

Ariadne searches her lust fueled brain for what he as said and then writes ‘ _ ~~Arthur is a jerk~~_ _Arthur jerks off’_.  She takes a deep breath, and resists the urge to let her hand fall between her thighs (she is not that un-lady like – well not in public).  “Go on,” her voice sounds strangled, and she fumes. 

 

“Once I’m hard I’ll shove myself inside of you.  One hard thrust,” Arthur explains.

 

This of course translates to ‘ _Arthur rams it in me_ ’ and she is doing her best not to squirm in her seat (Ariadne figures she deserves some credit here).  She knows her face is flushed and her breathing is perhaps erratic but she is not moaning (more importantly she is not begging.  No, she won’t do that). 

 

“You’ll want me to go fast right away, you always do.  But I’ll go slow, pull back, inch my way in.”

 

‘ _Arthur is a fucking sharp dressed teasing bastard who should bend me over the desk right now._ ’ (Hmm, not the best job at condensing his thoughts).  Ariadne doesn’t have time to considering changing it. 

 

“I’ll pull out when you’re writhing beneath me.  Flip you over on your stomach and take you again,” He tells her and she thinks that perhaps for the first time there is a slight hitch in his breath.  However, when she looks up, Arthur is looking as composed as ever (jerk).  She must be staring for too long because he raises an eyebrow.  “Write it down, Ariadne,” he commands. 

 

She wonders if it is possible to hold a pen so hard that it snaps.  ‘ _I like it from behind_ ’ makes it way to the every growing list and notices for the first time that her writing has become bigger and messier (if that is even possible). 

 

“You’ll beg but I can’t make out what you are saying.”

 

‘ _No I won’t_ ’. 

 

“You’ll scream around that precious scarf of yours and I’ll pull you onto your knees, make you grip that headboard you insisted we buy and then I’ll finally go fast – just like you wanted from the start.”

 

‘ _Arthur deserves to be kicked in the balls – but he has to fuck me first_ ’.  The ache between her thighs is almost unbearable.  She needs something, anything (preferably Arthur’s tongue) to help soothe it before she starts speaking gibberish. 

 

“You’ll come again…” Of course.  “…and grip me so tight I’ll nearly follow suit right then and there.  But I’ll recover enough to fuck you straight into the mattress,” Arthur tells her and she swears there is a smidgen of pride in his voice (she would tell him to keep dreaming if she didn’t already know it was possible).  “Go on, I like good concise notes,” Arthur says when she hesitates. 

 

Ariadne places pen to paper and finds herself writing ‘ _Arthur breaks the box-spring again_ ’.  “Are we done yet?” She asks quietly, hoping she comes off as cold and collected as he (impossible when her face is rosy and her free hand is nearly down her pants). 

 

“I haven’t come yet,” he points out with a frown.  “That is the most important part of this plan.  We can’t ignore it.”

 

“So come then!” She cries and realizes that she has been a perhaps a little too loud.  She glances at Eames and thankfully he is still buried in his document (or asleep, she can’t quite tell). 

 

“It’ll take a few more hard thrusts for that to occur.  But I’ll come and you’ll say my name softly, thinking that I can’t hear you, but I always do.”  A faint smile is evident on his face.  She is fighting twin urges to smack it away and kiss it softly (can she do both?).

 

‘ _Arthur’s orgasm face is atrocious_ ’.  She wants to set the pen down on the pad of paper.  “Surely that is all?” (It better be all because she can’t do this anymore.  Not without losing her clothes).  

 

“Not quite.”  Her eyes narrow, a protest builds but is cut off by his voice.  “I’ll pull you into my arms and tell you how much I love you.”

 

‘ _Arthur is the most amazing man I have ever met_ ’. 

 

Ariadne manages a small smile as he reaches forward to pull the pad out of her hand.  He doesn’t even bother to look at it, instead giving it a toss onto his desk.  She stands (on somewhat shaky legs) and allows herself to be pulled into a kiss.  She wants to grind herself into him but knows that now is not the time (but tonight, oh tonight she is gagging _him_ with her scarf).  When she pulls back, his arms are firm around her and his mouth is near her ear.  “Feeling useful?”

 

*

 

The notepad is forgotten until a week later when Eames digs it out from beneath the files stacked neatly on Arthur’s desk.   Ariadne is with Arthur going over specifics of the next job when Eames emerges holding it like a trophy.  “Darlings, what in the bloody hell is this?”

 


End file.
